CheckMate Page 13

  She was too shocked to do anything beyond stare at him, and he started fidgeting under her gaze.

  "I didn't get the date wrong, did I?” he asked, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. “June seventh?"

  Still trying to process what was going on and unable to answer verbally, she nodded. Finding out when she had died had probably not been hard, after all, he knew her full human name, but she had never expected he would bother to look it up. And she had expected even less that he would present her with a gift. She hadn't even known what the date was until he mentioned it. She didn't have much use for human ways to mark the passage of time.

  Vincent's hand was still extended in front of him, the box in his palm, but she didn't reach for it. Didn't dare to, not for any reason she could have explained. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever been offered a gift that didn't have a pulse and wide, terrified eyes.

  "If you don't want it..."

  He seemed a little at a loss and started to take back his hand. She finally reached toward him, touching his wrist to stop him.

  "I do,” she said, her voice strained. “I just didn't expect..."

  He was smiling when she took the box with an awkward ‘Thanks', and looked at her expectantly as she opened it, uncovering a pair of earrings. They looked vaguely familiar, for some reason, but Lilia couldn't remember wearing earrings since she had been turned.

  "There was a drawing of you, in one of my books,” Vincent said when she hadn't spoken after a few seconds. “You as a human, I mean. And you had on some earrings, and then I saw these in a store and they sort of looked like your old ones so I thought you might like them."

  As the connection was made in her mind, Lilia remembered and for a second she had a pulse again, was turning sixteen, opening the satin-covered jewelry box her mother had presented her with, and laughing with delight at the sight in front of her. The gold and emerald dangling earrings had belonged to her grandmother, and until that day, her mother had always refused to let her borrow them.

  She had been wearing them the night she had met Nathanael; then again, the night she had died. They had been gone when she had awoken a vampire, and she had never given them a second thought. They were one of many things to which she would never give a second thought to after being turned.

  "Thanks,” she repeated. “They're nice."

  It wasn't to thank him that she closed the distance between them and kissed him, barely pressing her lips to his. Rather, it was to silence the little voice in her mind that was suddenly and without rhyme or reason wondering if he would have loved her if she had been human. Was he trying to make her look like the portrait of her he had seen? Make her look like her human self?

  "Here, let me help you."

  She remained completely still as he took each earring in turn and carefully threaded the hook through her ears where the holes had never closed. It meant nothing, she told herself. They had been sleeping together for a while, and he was being nice, like men sometimes did without thinking of consequences. It didn't mean he felt anything for her; he just appreciated the time they spent in her bed.

  "You look exactly like that drawing of you,” he said when he was done and had taken a step back to see her better. “I'll show it to you if you want."

  The urge to put an end to his delusion was suddenly stronger than anything.

  "They were emeralds, not sapphires,” she replied, her voice colder than she meant it to be. “And they were gold. Not silver."

  He seemed a little taken aback by her correction, and his smile wavered a little. “The drawing was in black and white, so I couldn't tell,” he explained, almost apologetic. “If you don't like them, I can take them back. Get something else. Or you could choose."

  She wanted to give the stupid jewelry back to him, wanted to tell him he couldn't transform her into the human she had once been, wanted him to acknowledge, simply, who and what she was, but the words refused to come out.

  She had realized, suddenly, that this was only his latest attempt at being nice to her. He had dropped by her mausoleum, a couple of days earlier, in the middle of the afternoon. She had thought he wanted another session in bed and would have happily abandoned the television documentary she had been watching—it was so dreadful that she had been correcting facts aloud as she watched. Instead he had merely taken off his shoes and had come to sit next to her on the bed, not even touching her, merely making comments on the show, asking questions when she rolled her eyes at yet another mistake, and puzzling her beyond words. Then there had also been that barely veiled interrogation about what kind of flowers she liked best, and the bouquet she had found on the altar when the alarm chimes had woken her up one early afternoon.

  All of it had started after the dinner with his father.

  After she had so convincingly played the role of being a human.

  She had caused this; she had made him believe that she could be something she wasn't and now he was playing the game of pretend too. She would have to set him straight. And maybe, while she was doing that, she would manage to convince herself that loving him was a lost cause and she had to let go of the feeling. Because it was clear, now, that he could love a human, but not a vampire.

  * * * *

  Vincent had been so sure Lilia would love the earrings that he was more than disappointed when she didn't appear otherwise touched by his gift. The truth was he hadn't found by accident jewelry that resembled what Lilia had once worn. Instead, he had had the earrings made especially for her from the drawing in her biography. The fact that he had gotten the specifics wrong, as she had so charmingly pointed out, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  They had finished the hunt in awkward silence after he had offered them to her. Then, as usual, they had gone to her home. They had fucked. Because this time, that was what it had been on her part, he had realized as much; fucking, and nothing more.

  She was asleep, now, turned away from him, and he had been watching the smooth expanse of her back for long, interminable minutes, wondering what he had done to upset her so.

  Maybe it was because he had reminded her of the date; maybe she would rather have spent the day without remembering. Or maybe the earrings had brought back memories that would have been better left untouched. Had he hurt her without meaning to? All he had wanted was to be nice to her, show her he cared.

  Show her he was starting to do more than care, too.

  The thought struck him out of nowhere, and left Vincent stunned.

  More than care? Where had that come from? He didn't...

  God ... did he?

  That would explain why he had been feeling like a teenager again every time he was around Lilia, why he had been trying to make her smile, why—

  Refusing to continue that line of thought, he scrambled off the bed and hastily picked up his clothes. Lilia turned to him as he was getting dressed; her eyes were fully open, no trace of sleep hiding in them. She observed him without saying a word, and he had the strange feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  "I've got to go home,” he mumbled, trying to fill the unnerving silence even as he struggled with his boots laces.

  "Why?” she asked coolly. “It's not like anyone is waiting for you, is there?"

  It was the first time she had ever questioned his departure, and it made him even more uncomfortable. He tried to hide it, but he didn't doubt she could hear it in his voice.

  "I get late calls, sometimes. Reports of nests to check out, that kind of stuff. I've got to be there."

  She didn't insist, and didn't say a word as he left, his shirt still undone but needing too badly to get out of her sight to care.

  He didn't walk home. He ran.

  It wasn't only from her that he was running. It was, also, mostly, from himself. From his feelings, and treacherous thoughts.

  It was bad enough that he was Mated to her, his life threatened by her death and his body addicted to hers. He had never asked for it, never wanted it, and he was doi
ng his best to live in spite of it.

  The feelings she had admitted to have for him had been a surprise, and they had complicated things and made him feel guiltier about wanting nothing more than sex from her, but they had been her feelings. There was nothing he could do about them, and little he could say.

  To share them was unconceivable.

  His job was to stake vampires, not fall in love with them.

  It definitely was not to fall in love with a vampire he had sworn to kill.

  Chapter 15

  It wasn't often that Don closed his bookshop and brought a couple of beers over to Vincent's house. It usually meant that they had research to do about a new vamp in town or an artifact that had surfaced in the area. Or that he wanted advice about his love life. Why his friend thought that Vincent could help when he had never kept a girlfriend for more than two months—with the notable exception of Emma, but then she had been his work partner too—Vincent had no idea.

  They hadn't planned any research, so Vincent was taken aback when the expected ‘I've got a problem with Jeanie’ didn't come. That wasn't the most surprising though; Don's chosen topic was.

  "So, were you going to ever tell me about it, or were you waiting to see how long it would take me to figure it out?"

  Sprawled out on the sofa, bare feet on the coffee table and his abandoned weekly vampire kills worksheet next to him, Vincent stared at Don over his beer; he thought he knew what Don was referring to, but he hoped, truly hoped, that he was wrong.

  "Tell you about what?"

  Don leaned back into the armchair, and gave a slight shake of head before answering.

  "You and Lilia. Mated. You think I'm blind? I've known you for almost all my life, Vince. How could I not notice something was up?"

  Vincent hid his shock by taking a long swallow of his beer, finding it suddenly tasteless. What had he done to give himself away? He had thought he had been careful ... but it didn't really matter anymore, did it? The cat was out of the bag; he might as well try to make Don understand.

  "At first I was pretty much in denial that it had happened at all,” he tried to explain. “And then ... I guess I wouldn't have known what to say."

  Don made a face. “You could start by telling me I didn't cause this with my botched friendliness spell. Lie to me if you have to."

  Amused despite himself, Vincent smiled at Don's tone, both hopeful and fearful all at once.

  "Sorry,” was all he said; Don groaned and covered his face with his free hand.

  "I knew it,” he muttered, taking a swig of his beer. “It all added up and pointed at the spell but I was just hoping ... Gosh, Vince, I'm sorry. I screwed up even more than I originally thought."

  The words passed Vincent's lips before he was even aware he was pronouncing them; and when he heard what he was saying, he realized it was the truth.

  "I'm not sorry it happened."

  Don considered him thoughtfully for a moment before asking: “She put you under a thrall, right? Vincent Jordan did not just tell me he doesn't mind being Mated to a vampire. Not just any vampire, but Lilia."

  Repressing the chuckle was doable, but the grin pierced through despite Vincent's valiant efforts.

  "Yes, Vincent Jordan just said that. And no, she didn't thrall me."

  "How would you even know?” Don asked suspiciously. “If you are under thrall, you can't possibly be aware of it. Maybe I should..."

  "Maybe you should trust me,” Vincent cut in. “I've seen enough thralled humans to be able to know that I don't show any of the signs. And anyway, if it had been a thrall, it wouldn't have taken us so long to sleep—"

  Don raised a hand. “OK. I believe you. Keep the details to yourself. It's hard enough to imagine that your life is linked to a vampire's, but that you two are actually ... doing it..."

  His face contorted in a grimace, and Vincent had the brief urge to tell him he would keep his details quiet as long as Don kept his sex life with Jeanie under wraps too.

  Something else altogether came out, however. Now that Don knew, it was strangely easier to say more, and express aloud things that Vincent had barely been starting to admit to himself.

  "It's more than that,” he murmured, smile gone and entirely serious now. “I think I'm falling in love with her."

  Fits of coughing made it clear what Don thought of that, but he expressed his incredulity vocally too.

  "Love? You love Lilia? The same Lilia who killed Peter seven years ago and who's been trying to kill you ever since? Don't tell me there's no thrall, Vince. I can't believe—"

  "Neither can I, actually. It's not as if I wanted to love her. And I know perfectly well what she did. What she is. As much as I hate to even admit it, she killed Peter in a fair fight, Don. He would have killed her instead if he had been better. Or I could have been the one fighting her that night, and she might have killed me, or I, her."

  "You're finding excuses for her now?” Don spat, clearly irritated.

  "No. I'm not excusing what she did. Just saying ... I'm in love with her. I can't control that, I can't reason with myself and tell myself I shouldn't be. I tried, and it didn't work."

  "It's the Mating thing,” Don tried to argue. “It's playing with your mind."

  "That's what I thought in the beginning, but it's more than that. It's her. It's..."

  He shrugged. He could spend an hour discussing what he saw in Lilia, but he doubted that Don would ever understand.

  For a long moment, the only sound was that of beer bottles being slowly emptied. Then Don rose to get two more bottles in the kitchen, giving one to Vincent when he returned.

  "So, you two are a couple, then?” he asked with the tone of someone who resigned himself to the fact that he already knew the answer to the question he was asking.

  "I'm not sure,” Vincent confessed. “We sleep together, and she let slip that she has feelings for me, but..."

  "But what?” Don prompted when Vincent fell silent. “She loves you, you love her, and there goes another happy ending. Except, you know, for the whole bloodsucking thing, and the ‘she dies, you die’ clause."

  Vincent didn't answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell Lilia, and he didn't even know why he was hesitating. As long as all they did was spend their nights together, things were simple, and there were no expectations other than what happened in the bedroom. What would happen if he told her? She had come close to completely closing down when he had offered her the earrings, and she had never acknowledged the flowers. Understanding women had never been Vincent's forte, but understanding a woman who also happened to be a vampire might prove too much for him.

  "Well, one thing's for sure,” Don said with a long-suffering sigh. “You'll have to tell Jeanie yourself and calm her when she freaks out that there'll be a vampire at the reception."

  Vincent laughed as he brought the fresh bottle to his lips, but interrupted his gesture to look at Don questioningly.

  "What reception?” Don grinned a bit bashfully. “Did I mention we're getting married?"

  * * * *

  There was something going on with Vincent, and it was driving Lilia insane.

  They had been hunting for a couple of hours already, and he had alternated between bouts of non stop babbling about the most trivial things and moments of complete silence when he was looking at her while pretending not to. If she hadn't known any better, she would have seriously believed he was thinking about staking her and was nervous about it. But he couldn't do that, not if he wanted to live.

  Therefore, something else had to be bothering him, and she had almost asked a couple of times before stopping herself. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, not when she had decided to step back from whatever it was they were sharing. In fact, she might as well start stepping back right now.

  "I'm going to say my goodbyes for tonight,” she announced, catching him off guard during one of his silent moments. “I've got errands to run."

  "Oh. I could ... come with you, maybe. It looks
like a slow night."

  The nonchalance of his tone was belied by the expectant look on his face, and for a second, Lilia hesitated, before remembering her resolve. They had Mated by accident. That didn't mean they had to spend every hour of every day together.

  "You'd get bored,” she said, her tone more dismissive than she would have wished, and she felt compelled to lie further. “I'm just ... going to pay my rent, buy some blood, really, nothing exciting."

  He shrugged. “As you wish, then. I guess I'll do one more round tonight before heading home."

  There was almost a question in his words, and she guessed that it wasn't home where he wanted to finish his night, but she let it pass without making an invitation, cheering herself on for holding to what she had decided. Then she fell back on easy habits.

  "I'll see you tomorrow at nightfall?"

  He nodded, even smiled, and she walked away from him before she could falter.

  Yes, she loved him. Yes, she was Mated to him. Yet, neither meant that she had to pretend to be a human to please him. Neither prevented her from finding another lover. And neither ought to have made her feel so guilty at the idea that she had lied to him, and that she would fuck someone other than him before the night was over. Guilt was for humans; the whole point was to prove that she was anything but human.

  Once upon a life, dance clubs had been one of her favorite hunting grounds. Music and crowds had a way to make bodies and blood pulse with heat, excitement and pure, unadulterated joy. She hadn't set foot in one in a while, though, not since being Mated to Vincent. Being surrounded by so many potential prey and not being able to feed would have been too hard.

  At first, she tried regular clubs, but she was spotted as a vampire faster than she could seduce. So, she resigned herself to a very particular type of club, one where humans went to experience the thrill of being bitten if they found the right vamp. She had always hated this kind of place, she liked her prey to be fresh, liked also the hint of fear in their blood when they realized what she was. But this time, it didn't matter. Anyone would do. Anyone as long as it wasn't Vincent.